


Frame and Focus (Darling, there's a show to put on)

by lechatnoir



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Cabaret, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Queerplatonic Relationships, in which there's cabaret and detectives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1865016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lechatnoir/pseuds/lechatnoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1920s AU where Clarice Ferguson and Lucas Bishop are detectives on a murder case, Roberto and James are dancers in a cabaret show, and they all end up living together in a sort of patchwork family of sorts. </p><p>Ororo Munroe owns a cabaret place called the Murlock Tunnels and Jean Grey and Scott Summers are reporters investigating the Hellfire Club's criminal activity, and it seems as if everything's about to explode before the next 8pm show.</p><p>In other words, there's puttin on a show for getting  a case done, and maybe a kiss or two smuggled in there as the old trolleys slowly rattle on by and the summer rolls on by lazily. </p><p>Non-Powered AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. jumbled mess of moments (and we add two and one together)

There’s something like the rat-a-tat-tat tune that dances along the cobblestones when you turn on the corner of Park and Madison, and the hum of the old trolleys that rattle on by, with the dust and dirt whirling through the air in the summer heat. It’s the sound of old oxfords, leather worn and heels still managing to _‘click’_ a bit as they hit the ground and it’s the humming of an old song - _maybe it’s one of Duke Ellington’s_ \- that greet the ears of pedestrians as a young woman makes her way through the crowds with her hands shoved in her pants pockets and hair clipped up in a braid that loops around itself into a bun, a few strands of hair falling down to frame her face and it’s the violet streaks that make her green eyes stand out even more than usual. She takes a glance at her watch before letting out a whistle and huffing something about needing a device that could possibly transport her to the office in a lickety split second, but unless she got a move on, Bishop would probably grumble and scowl at her from his desk the entire morning, and she had spent too much time pouring over the latest case of a string of murders that had been occurring in the Upper East Side last night, so to say that she wasn’t in the mood to deal with additional complaints and glares from her partner - would be an understatement. 

It’s not like she wasn’t a morning person per say, it was more like she couldn’t sleep for the creeping sense that she was letting down the general population by not focusing her time and energy on this case. If it was some sort of easy case to solve, she wouldn’t have been spending so much time on it in the first place. It was contorted and confusing, and she hasn’t slept much, even with James and Roberto both getting up out of bed at about three in the morning to take the files away from her hands and drag her off to bed while she grumbled and tried to protest that she was _fine_. 

It really was _not_ necessary and for the matter, Clarice Ferguson could take care of herself, thank you very much. Still, they had said something about not seeing her for a while now and it was the _weekend_ for God’s sake, Clarice at least relax even just for a moment. Roberto had said that they had missed her (or maybe that was just them missing her cooking rather than actually missing her) and she had rolled her eyes and muttered that she’d be in bed in a few minutes after she gets changed and washes up for the night. And honestly, in any case, they had survived the few days that she had ended up staying late at the office, pouring over the patterns and trying to make sense of the murders that had sprouted up like daises out of nowhere over the course of three weeks. And _maybe_ she had fallen asleep at her desk, with disheveled hair and red rimmed eyes the morning after. And _maybe_ Lucas got worried (which was unusual because Lucas usually did _not_ worry. In fact, Lucas was the levelheaded, responsible one out of their little group) which would have been a surprise except that the next time Clarice had groggily opened her eyes, there was a cup of coffee in front of her and a warm quilt draped over her shoulders, and when she had looked up, Lucas had a quiet smile on his face.   
Still, she was stuck in the office that one time because of this case and it wasn’t her fault if she wanted the job to get done. Even if that meant that she’d have to sacrifice the comfort of her old bed for a few more hours of deciphering the patterns in which the murders occurred in. Clarice could only grumble and rub at her eyes with her hands before running her fingers through the messy heap of hair she had tossed into some sort of bun-braid combination which still had stray hairs sticking out in every way and direction, and she could only raise an eyebrow before shaking her head, taking a sip of coffee and put her feet up on the desk, leaning back slightly on her chair and closing her eyes before muttering - 

“What? Is there something on my face, Bishop?” 

“Hm? Oh no, just the layout of the entirety of the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Good to know that if I was lost I could just look at your face in order to navigate my way around the city.” Lucas had said in reply as he shuffled the papers that had been haphazardly tossed onto his desk two days ago by some reporter who he hadn’t really remembered the name of, only that she had long brown hair and had a last name that was something like ‘Prude’ or ‘Pride’ and that there was something about cats when it had come to remembering her name.

“Well, at least I’ll get you places in a blink of an eye, Bishop.” 

“If you keep on leaning back on your chair you’re going to end up with hot coffee all over you and I am not paying you to sit around and spill hot coffee on yourself, Ferguson.” 

“You just take the fun out of everything, Bishop.” 

“I’m _also_ the one who writes your paycheck.”

“You’re _also_ the one who lives in my apartment.” 

It wasn’t often that she’d bicker with Bishop, but she had been cooped up in the office trying to find something on the case, so if she felt sleep deprived and jittery and felt like bickering, that would be the case. 

Even so, that one time incident of falling asleep meant that Lucas would constantly hound her for slacking off or something like that, which is why she had been rushing that morning in order to get in on time. 

She had precisely five minutes to get to the office, and here she was, tapping and humming away as she weaved her way through the crowd and ran towards the office building, ignoring the huffy snaps and complaints about how _unladylike_ women were these days. 

It’s with a skid and a slam of the door that she barely makes it, and she lets out a breath before sighing and making her way to her desk, plopping down and putting her feet up. 

“You’re late, Clarice.” 

“Oh please Bishop, I still had one minute to spare. And unless you have coffee for me , I’m not going to be much help with this case that we’re dealing with right now.” 

She’s met with raised eyebrows and a look that’s more exasperated than anything else before Bishop gets up and makes his way over to her desk, leans against the drawers and leans down to kiss her forehead gently, to which she responds with a hum of delight. 

“You’re going to burn out if you don’t get some rest, Clarice.” 

“Been there done that, Lucas. It’s going to take more than this murder case to top me! Besides, time’s running out and the quicker we solve this murder case, the quicker I can get home and finally _sleep_. Do you know how great that would be? Because I’m telling you that’d be really swell.” 

“And you _do_ realize that James and Roberto will drag you out of here if you don’t stop trying to lock yourself up in here on a daily basis because you think that the more you pour over these articles and the evidence that we have, you’re going to find something entirely new compared to the last fifty times you’ve looked through this.” 

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to try, Lucas.” 

“I’ll have Roberto and James come here right after the show tonight, and then you’ll get talked into performing an opening number at the local cabaret place and then you’re going to regret not taking my advice of taking a break, Clarice.” 

She could only roll her eyes and get up out of her chair, stretching her muscles and chuckling – “Well, I do suppose we’ll all end up in the same bed together by tonight if that happens? Who knows how long it’s been since the four of us had the time to relax. Besides, you three are comfy pillows that I can use at my disposal.” 

She’s greeted by a grin and a slight shaking of the head in fond exasperation, but it makes her day go by a little bit quicker than usual. 

Maybe they’ll get this case down and flat quicker than anticipated, which would mean that she’d get to sleep soon. Which, was quite reassuring. 

(Even if that meant sucking up and learning a rushed, impromptu dance routine for the late night opening act of the boys’ cabaret show. 

 

When looking for a large, big name criminal, it’s always good to put on a show. 

 

Blend in, get close, and have your eyes and ears everywhere, and maybe, just _maybe_ you’ll find a silver of a whisper of intel, and then that intel will lead to more intel, and then you’ll trip and fall on a red herring only to somehow find the answer to the murder mystery, and then you could just drink away the headache. 

 

At least, that’s what Clarice planned to do, and if the boys wanted to help out. she wouldn't say no. )


	2. Wake Up Now (I've Got Something to Show You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Ororo Munroe, Jean Grey, and the ladies of the Murlock Tunnels cabaret group.
> 
> In which Clarice has to get into a corset, Wanda Maximoff keeps an eye out for things and Jean Grey thinks that she might need a bit more alcohol to get through the night.
> 
> Also things seem to have the uncanny ability to completely work against Clarice's luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this spiraled out of control (oops) annd the cast of characters got considerably larger; 
> 
> I do have a idea to make this into a little series with a few spin offs so maybe that's something to look out for; 
> 
> good luck to everyone w/ finals and all QvQ; 
> 
> as per usual, you can find me on tumblr under 'chrysanthemumskies' !

i.

 

They say that the Murlock Tunnels had so many different owners that no one really knew who founded the place way back in the late 1800s. What mattered most wasn’t who owned the place or who bought it from what investor back in the day but rather the fact that it was the sort of place where the law and the underground scene managed to blur the lines – in terms of information and finding leads of course.

(Not that you’d find off duty police officers mingling with the gals who came in early before the evening 8 o’clock show, red ruby lips and a glint in their eye. 

It was simple really – share a light, or a swing of the flask and maybe if you got lucky you’d snag a bit of information on what the latest crooks and scoundrels were planning. That is of course if you paid the price up front and with a bit of an insurance policy. 

Nothing too serious, just a routine negligence in terms of checking up on the place during daytime hours, as the girls would say before laughing in the officers’ faces and sauntering off for rehearsal, always three hours before the show on the dot, no exceptions.) 

 

And it was no secret that Ororo Munroe held the Murlock Tunnels with a benevolent hand, and that she was more than willing to help out one Clarice Ferguson every so often, since Roberto and James helped Ororo with security and even got to work with the girls every so often to brush up their steps and tune up the piano every once in a while. 

 

(Rumor went that Munroe had started out as a dancer herself, that she ran to New York to escape some sort of horror and that she had nothing but the sea winds to guide her and the old frazzled light of the lamp posts on a cold autumn day when she made it onto the streets. 

 

Rumor went that she had a heart of ice cold weather storms and that she wasn’t afraid to take out the competition herself if need be. 

 

Rumor was that if any man decided to lay hands on any of her girls, Munroe would slit his throat herself, no questions asked.

 

They say that Ororo Munroe is a woman of many faces, but to anger her would be the equivalent of trying to battle a raging weather storm. 

 

You’d end up dead. )

ii.

 

Clarice Ferguson wasn’t much of a dancer – in fact, despite her uncanny ability for gymnastics and hand-eye coordination, she was a tad bit tone deaf when it came to dance. And it’s not like she actively went out of her way to help out Roberto and James (and only then it was only if they asked _very_ nicely , and added an extra shot of whiskey to her cocktail of hot chocolate and whatnot when she managed to drag herself and Lucas out of the goddamn office when it became clear that staring at the same set of evidence and documents isn’t helping anyone and that they have a better shot of looking at things in the morning) but when she did it was as if she had to re-learn the routine with the girls all over again. 

And it’s not like Ororo put her front and center stage – nah, Munroe knew who Clarice was and they had a good deal going on and heck, Clarice had helped put down some of the jerks who tried to get to the girls at some point way back in the day (not that Roberto or James knew that – they hadn’t met yet, when she was roaming the streets with nothing but an old worn knife she stole out of a scrap pile and the clothes on her back until Bishop had stumbled into her and she had helped get a few assholes off of his back down by the shipyards by breaking their noses and making them cry) and so Clarice was usually in the second row closer to the curtains, usually on the right side of the stage. 

 

(It suited her better anyway, since any leads on the killer would probably come from the crowd closer that way , what with big names from the rumored Hellfire Club were supposedly going to be attending the show that night. ) 

 

Still, corsets and Clarice didn’t get along which is how she ended up grumbling over Wanda’s mirror as the woman laughed at her complaints and got to work on trying to make the corset fitting as less painful as possible. 

 

“You know, at this rate why have ribs. Why have _any_ sort of anatomy at all because clearly corsets want to kill us. It’s not going to be some war or some sort of bombing, it’s going to be _corsets_ that do us in, Wanda.” 

 

“Mhm, you keep telling yourself that Clarice-cakes. Trust me, if it was that simple I’d probably burn them all right here and now.” 

 

“You’d be my savior, Wanda. Mine, and probably everyone else’s as well. _Ow._ ” 

 

A tug and then the sound of laces being tied and a pat on the back signaled that it was okay for Clarice to let go of her death grip on the mirror. 

 

“Thanks, though, I’m not sure I got the right moves down – “ Clarice mumbled before looking at the other dancer who was currently putting on her gloves for the show. 

 

(Rumor went that Wanda Maximoff came from Europe with her brother and sister in tow , that she managed to get them off the streets and that anyone who touched her got a knife in their throat , no questions asked. 

 

Though, if it was up to Wanda herself, she’d probably wish she had some sort of hex magic to banish the never-do-well-ers to some sort of far off land where they couldn’t hurt anyone again. Except maybe themselves.

 

Out of all of Munroe’s girls, Wanda was around almost the longest (well, except for Betsy Braddock who was one of Ororo's first girls in the group), and she was the one that Clarice went to when she needed a bit of eyes on the ground when she got caught up in office work and didn’t want the boys to get involved – after all, a gal on the streets was less suspicious then a group of young men who liked to travel in groups – and anyway, it’s not like Wanda asked for much, just the scoop on any sort of deals that Clarice might stumble upon in terms of overseas smugglers who would sell their wares for not too high of a price every now and then. 

 

Nothing too serious, really. 

And heck, Wanda’s info helped Clarice out more than once – in fact, one of the cases which Clarice spearheaded way back when couldn’t have happened if Wanda hadn’t told her the time and place of a major drug deal that was being planned on happening to which Lucas and her had taken out an entire ring by themselves and got a few scratches and scars to remember it by. ) 

 

Still, with the clock ticking, Clarice didn’t have that much time and so, with Wanda’s smile and wink in hand, she put on her gloves, brushed aside any stray hairs and let a smile plaster itself onto her face. 

‘ _Showtime !_ ’ 

It was then that Clarice tripped over her own two feet and haphazardly flailed before almost landing onto the floor face first if it wasn’t for Wanda and Rogue who caught her before she could do any major damage. 

“Thanks guys – “ 

“Don’t mention it. If I had a dollar for every person I had to save you’d think I’d be out of here already, decked out in fancy dresses and feathered boas like the ladies wear over on fifth avenue.” Rogue said, before smiling at Clarice and making her way to the wings of the stage. 

 

“Ah the young ones, always full of dreams. _Feathered boas_ of all things. As if her going out on the stage almost every night and stealing the attention of the masses isn’t enough. Kid wants to make it big now?” Betsy Braddock said as she passed Clarice and Wanda by, dark violet accents on her sequined corset and velvet gloves on her arms, a faint smile on her lips as she rolled her eyes fondly. 

 

“Y’know, for someone your age you’re always so _bitter_ , Betsy. Liven up a little!” Jubilee crowed as she rushed on by, bright yellow and pink accents on her body and a smile that seemed to rival electricity itself. 

 

“And yoooooou’re always so _loud_ Jubilee.” Betsy muttered before pushing the girl off of her half heartedly. 

 

Clarice could only raise an eyebrow at the two of them until Wanda chimed in, leaning in closer before whispering “It’s because Betsy’s British.” 

A stare or two, and then a blink, and Clarice couldn’t stop snickering.

 

“Yep. That would _definitely_ explain a lot. Like why she always sounds like something crawled up her spine and died there. “ 

 

“Y’know, for a detective, you’re really shit at being discrete, Ferguson.” 

 

“Screw you too, Braddock.” 

 

It was then that the lights blinked once, twice, and a third time before Ororo Munroe popped in from the side stair curtain of the dressing room and said “Alright ladies, keep it clean and simple. We’ve got a few important guests out there so remember – eyes and ears open.” 

 

With that said, Clarice grumbled about how heels were essentially the bane of her existence and how she could probably murder someone with a heel and get away with it before getting dragged on stage with Wanda in tow to start up the performance for the night. 

 

iii.

Ritz and glam was all fine and dandy if you had a taste of that sort of thing but for Jean Grey it just seemed a bit too _risqué_. At least , she didn’t understand the appeal of it all and when Ororo had offered her and Scott Summers (her editor slash partner slash work partner ) two seats to her show at the Murlock Tunnels tonight well, Jean couldn’t resist. 

 

(Especially not after Ororo had mentioned off handedly that a few members from a certain Hellfire Club were rumored to be in attendance. Y’know, the one group of individuals who had their hands in essentially almost _all_ of the politically corrupt offices and crime rings in the entire city ? 

 

The same Hellfire Club that Jean was tasked to get a scoop on for _months_ now but they always seem to up and vanish from their hotspots whenever Jean finally managed to get a lead on them and track them down.

 

“Elusive little buggers I swear – But sure, of course I’ll be there tonight , ‘Ro. I always did like the music you had served up at your place though , not too sure about the girls. Which, that’s not to say that I don’t think they’re good dancers – I’m sure they’re _great_ but uh you know me – it’s not like I live for this night life gig you have going on.” Jean had said over a cup of (now cold) coffee when Ororo Munroe had walked into her office with a pleasant smile and a cream colored hat with black feathers peeking out from the rim. 

“Oh come on Jeannie – it’s been so long since we’ve had a chance to talk. You can bring your partner with you if you want, there’s plenty of room at my place.” 

 

“Oh alright fine – Fine. I’ll tell him now – “ 

 

“Great – 8 o’clock sharp – don’t be late now. You _do_ remember the address, right?” 

 

“Course I do ‘Ro. I _did_ help you find the place in the first place.” 

 

“Then I’ll see you tonight , Jeannie.”

It was then that after Ororo had left that Jean called Scott Summers up from three cubicles down and told him to cancel all evening plans and that they were going out for the night.

(Which, he probably assumed that meant that she was finally interested in him in some sort of romantic sense but really Jean just needed someone to hold her bag and make sure that she didn’t forget her camera and also that she could have the possibility of getting slightly tipsy with one or two drinks if she had someone else to keep watch during the night.

Not that Scott had to know about any of that. 

And really, he wasn’t that bad of a guy once you got to know him a bit. ) 

“So uh, where exactly are we heading tonight, Jean?” 

“Murlock Tunnels – there’s a show playing at 8 o’clock sharp, and we’re invited.” 

“Wait you mean that uh – that danc—“ 

“That _cabaret_ place? Yeah. Very same one. If there’s a problem I can go by myse-“ 

“What? _No_ no – no problem at all. Just didn’t expect someone like you to want to be in a place like well -- _that_.” 

It was then that Jean raised her eyebrows at him, gave him a pointed look and Scott Summers pointedly excused himself to get started on some of the paperwork so that they could make the 8 pm show. 

“A _place like that_ \-- way to be subtle, Summers. You _really_ know how to impress a lady.” Jean muttered, rolling her eyes before pulling up the list of things that needed to be done and numbers to be called. 

 

iv. 

 

When 8 o’clock rolled about, Jean Grey was dressed in a shimmering green dress with golden accents and might have had a swing of whiskey for good luck before stepping out of the cab and putting on her gloves. 

 

When 8:15 pm rolled about, Clarice Ferguson managed to remember every single dance move in the number and managed to not rip her stockings - not even once.

 

At approximately 8:20 pm, the ensemble switched and Wanda Maximoff took the lead – to which, she managed to catch the eye of one reporter in a green dress with flaming hair and at the end of her number, she sent a wink and a coy smile her way. 

 

At approximately 8:30pm, Jean Grey was on her third glass of alcohol, and figured that the woman with dark curly hair in red wasn’t leaving her mind despite it being approximately 65 seconds since the number had ended and she had felt her mouth go dry and her grip on the glass had gotten a bit tighter and the thought of lips on her skin entered her mind although, she couldn't quite understand why. 

 

At 8:45 pm , Clarice Ferguson got a call that another dead body had shown up on the Upper East Side.


	3. Clockwork Rainfalls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a murder scene is presented and Clarice just wants to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for description of murder /death . 
> 
>  
> 
> you can find me on tumblr under 'chrysanthemumskies'

Crime scenes are always filled to the brim with three things most of the time. You would think that being in the field for so long that there’d be some sort of change in how things happen to pop up like clockwork whenever there’s a crime to be solved. At least, that’s what Clarice had hoped for when she got the call and had to hop out of a corset and heels without tripping over everyone and rush to the address that she had been given, with Bishop, Roberto and James staying behind in order to keep a look out for any stray info. 

In any case, at the scene of a murderous crime Clarice Ferguson notes that you can probably find these three things – 

1) The stench of a decomposing dead body

2) Incompetent cops who try to talk over you just because they’re bigger than you in size and height and think a scrawny girl should be at home with her parents, not at a gruesome crime scene. (To which Clarice rolls her eyes and stops on a few toes and wishes that she had kept the heels on solely for the purpose of causing more damage) 

3) A red herring or a sea of clues that might connect this crime to other crimes that have happened or that will happen. 

\- None of these things were even remotely reassuring in the grand scheme of things.

It was also just her luck that the summer downpour decided to happen right then and there so when she had finally gotten to the scene she looked like a violet colored rat – at least, that’s what Daken had yelled at her before laughing at her when she flipped him the bird yet he had then proceeded to make his way towards her with an umbrella in tow. 

“Charming as ever, Daken. Really. If I had a dollar for every single time you spewed out garbage I’d probably be able to buy the entirety of Manhattan and ship you off to some dump in the ocean.” She muttered, rolling her eyes at the young man’s grin as he opened up the umbrella for her and then proceeded to walk over to the corpse. 

“You know me Ferguson, always have a smile on my face, always aiming to please! Thaaaaat’s me!” 

“Right. What the hell do we have here anyway – some kind of grizzly bear attack? And before you start lecturing how there’s no such thing as bears in New York City, you’d be surprised. Half the time I think your dad’s a bear , even more so when he gets drunk. Actually, that’s when ‘Ro gets more money since apparently the crowd loves the burly small man who can dance ontop of tables wearing golden sequined undergarments. Shoot. Okay sorry – Focusing now.” 

(And it’s not like she didn’t know about Daken and his feud with Logan – hell, everyone knew of Logan Howlett and how his son had a habit of hating his entire existence and did whatever he could to make his life a living hell. Or at least as much as possible without getting caught by the police.

It was just something that the street folk kept to themselves and that the police didn’t need to bother dabbling in some delinquent’s blood filled revenge streak – the less attention, the better. 

At least that was _one_ thing that Clarice could respect in Daken. Slightly. Possibly. ) 

“Well now I think that hair dye of yours is finally getting to your brain if you can’t just _shut up_ about my dad for once, Ferguson.”

“Oooh did I hit a nerve? Sorry kid . Actually , I’m not but you’re here which means that you know something about what happened so spill the beans Daken and I’ll let you go with no further questions asked and – “ and here Clarice leans in closer to the young man and says – “And maybe I’ll toss a few bottles of some good ol’ liquor for you. “ 

“Tempting offer, sugarcakes.” 

It’s then and there that Clarice shoves him forward and mutters – 

“Shut up and get with the identifying process, jerkface.” 

ii.

“ _Police indicate that yet another murder has occurred on the Upper East Side of Manhattan today – a young male with bright orange hair and neck injuries appeared near Main Street presumably having been killed earlier this evening. The Police are urging that civilians keeps safe and stay indoors and that this mystery murder seems to be linked to the murders that have been happening recently with an alarming frequency however, the authorities are handling it to the best of their ability and we hope that the murderer will be caught and apprehended soon before yet another tragedy like this can come to play yet again._ “ 

iii.

At approximately 2 in the morning, Clarice manages to get back to the apartment and almost falls over her own two feet while opening the door and stepping into the apartment, And she probably would have face planted directly into the floor if James hadn’t caught her then and there. 

“You’re warm. Can I just stay here and use you as a furnace and not do anything at all ever again because if I have to cross examine a autopsy report with Daken of all people I’m going to start murdering people and then you and Roberto and Lucas are going to have to bail me out of jail and then – “ 

“Clarice, slow down for starters and yes, you can use me as a furnace even though you also have two other people here who you use as pillows daily which , I don’t know why the sudden attention to me for a pillow.” 

“It’s your hair” is what Clarice had said as she buried her face into his shoulder but it came out sounding something along the lines of “Mmfs uyrur hrar” to which James could only roll his eyes and mutter “C’mon, off to bed with you. Else Lucas is going to give one of his speeches about time and precision and it’ll be like six in the morning and we wouldn’t even be fully awake at that point.” 

And so that’s how it sort of went – with Clarice being half dragged, half carried off to bed where she then proceeded to use James, Lucas and Roberto as pillows with no remorse to their vital organs or their lungs, and in the morning she had sat down and stared Lucas into the eye before saying – 

“So, this murder > Turns out it’s a bit more than what we bargained for, Bishop.” 

(And it’s not often that she’d call him ‘Bishop’ just as he would sometimes very rarely call her ‘Blink”. Yet, every single time that it had happened , something bad seemed to rear it’s ugly head up.

iv. 

At approximately 9:05 in the morning, Clarice had wiggled out from the cuddling mess that was the group’s sleeping arrangements, showered, and had then proceeded to make a phone call to Ororo’s place on the off chance that maybe 1) the phone lines finally got fixed since the last outage and 2) someone would actually pick up the phone and help her out. It was her luck that Wanda had picked up the phone on the fourth ring and Clarice sent out a quiet ‘thank you’ to any sort of mystical higher up being that probably danced along to Duke Ellington’s tunes whenever it had the urge to do so. 

“Murlock Tunnels, Wanda speaking.” 

“If I told you that I love you would that be odd?” 

“Not at all dear – what can I help you with? “ 

It was then that Clarice had started to map out all the information that she knew so far about these murders – that they occur on a time interval of anywhere from being two days apart to as far as four months apart, that they have some sort of neck injury or trauma to the chest area , and that they all show up at the most inconvenient times and that there’s usually a downpour and also Daken is there. 

(Alright so maybe the last two were just Clarice projecting very, _very_ loudly. ) 

“I need you to keep a eye out on Jean Grey and Scott Summers – Grey specifically. I have a feeling they might help me out in this mess.” 

“Annnd you need by help because you can’t just call their offices, demand that they cough up anything they know about these murders of yours and then maybe you can close this case? Am I right or ? “ 

“One hundred and ten percent correct. “ 

There’s a sigh and what Clarice assumes is Wanda rolling her eyes at the phone but then she responds – 

“Fine. I’ll keep a eye out. Besides, that Jean girl is interesting. Seems to know quite a lot about what’s been going on and what the main issues and concerns are with us.” 

“Wanda , I love you and I will literally sing praises into the streets of you – “ 

“Please don’t. The last time you tried to sing you eneded up breaking all of the mirrors.” 

“Smoooth as every Wanda. Thank you --- keep me posted if anything pops up, alright? ‘ 

She’s met with a laugh and a quiet ‘sure thing’ before the line disconnects and Clarice decides to crawl back to bed and burrow her face into someone’s neck and humming quietly when their quiet breathing and sleepy kisses lull her to sleep.


	4. Run and Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get Wanda Maximoff's backstory and the murder case rears it's head up yet again.
> 
> (Or, Clarice and the boys figure out what the hell is going on)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as per usual you can find me on tumblr under 'chrysanthemumskies' uwu; 
> 
> mentions of alcohol and drugs;

i.

If It was of any note to anyone of note, Wanda Maximoff didn’t really care for the happenings of New York’s underground backwater crime world. In fact, if she had any say in it, she’d probably roll her eyes and mutter something about it all being a haphazard house of cards waiting to topple and crush everyone underneath it, and that she’d watch the mountain crumble from her apartment over in downtown manhattan and sip her coffee while flipping them all off. 

(It’s as if you had a pair of eyes trailing after you, following every single move and every smile is laced with poison.) 

She remembers the words her father had spoken to her before they had to flee with the wails of the static radio and the warning signs of bombs dogging their steps each and every way that they looked. 

(She remembers her parents vaguely, how they had told her to take Lorna and Pietro and run far far away, and to never look back – as if she was in one of those Greek myths and she was some unfortunate hero. 

He had promised that he would follow them soon, and had given her his old hunting knife, told her to keep it close by and to keep it safe, that he’d return for it soon.

It had been a lie.) 

Still, Wanda kept a hand on the knife old and worn out but she knows how to use it – only in dire circumstances of course, but still the knowledge is there, resting in her mind like the old citadel shrines of Cybele, lost and abandoned but still grounding and unstoppable. The metal was warm to the touch ( or maybe that was a figment of her imagination) and sometimes it felt as if someone was keeping an eye on her, as if the knife was some sort of tether and it kept her safe. 

(She laughs instead, and shakes her head at the thought) 

Sometimes she catches herself thinking that maybe her siblings and the crowd over at the Murlock Tunnels were special in some way – as if they had abilities to make the improbable happen – like dazzling fireworks from the tips of their fingertips or hypnotizing someone with just a glance. 

And then she remembers the rehearsal from earlier today – how Jubilee almost made the chandelier crash _again_ in her ongoing competition with Betsy for most acrobatic flexible dancer or whatever ridiculous bet they had going on at this point – and how Rogue had almost ran into the wall again when Kitty Pryde had stopped by with tea and coffee and then Laura Kinney had showed up with Logan to do yet another inventory check and Ororo had given everyone a twenty minute break, which Jubilee and Laura took full advantage of. 

At least, Jubilee did -- Laura seemed to be more flustered than usual and Jubilee looked like a kicked puppy when Wanda had to come and tell her that they’re back on the floor in five minutes. 

Needless to say, they were quite the collective bunch. 

Maybe they were special in their own sort of odd way, 

( _Especially_ Wade Wilson their delivery man - providing that he didn’t mix up the sugar order with cocaine like that one time when he got drunk on some really bad moonshine and had somehow looted an entire drug ring and taken out the head boss and then proceeded to tell Ororo all about it in front of the girls). 

Still, Clarice Ferguson had asked a favor of Wanda and so she had put on the dark wine colored lip stick, added a bit more mascara than usual and slipped her knife into her pocket before kissing Lorna and Pietro both on the cheeks and telling them that she’d be home late, and made her way to the backwater alleys down by the piers where the underworld prowled, a mask on her face in the form of a smile and a glint in her eye.

( _Find out anything you can about what the Hellfire Club’s up to._ \- _C.F._

That had been the note she was given earlier that morning. ) 

ii. 

“Clarice are you sure we can trust that Maximoff girl? I mean for all we know she could be leading you into a trap –“ Roberto had said, a worried look on his face as he plopped down on the couch and watched her pace back and forth across the floor, eyes scanning the map of New York that she had spent all night pinpointing and drawing conclusions with Lucas and James’ help, with Roberto being on coffee duty and periodically taking over when they needed to sleep. It had been a long night but maybe, just maybe they’d get to the bottom of this. 

“Roberto, I’ve known Wanda longer than I’ve known you – she gets in and out, and does a clean job of things. She has a bit of luck when it comes to probability and defying odds – trust me, she’ll get some sort of intel on them, I can guarantee it.” Clarice said, before sighing and plopping down onto the couch and muttering something about how this would be a whole lot easier if the murders weren’t happening with such frequency in the first place.

“Auuuuuuugh who gets some sick joy out of luring young people out into the open and then decapitating their bodies and tossing them into the waterfront? It doesn’t make any sense – none of them have any connection – no known acquaintances, friends, jobs – nothing adds up!” Clarice muttered, pull strands of her hair in frustration before jumping up – 

“Wait. Wait a second --- “ 

“What?” 

“The victims --- “ 

“What about them?” 

“I think – maybe we’ve been looking at this all wrong – maybe they do have some sort of connection to each other… but what? There’s nothing that they have in common –“ 

“ Other than that they’ve been found within a 25 mile radius from the Murlock Tunnels.“ James piped in as he carried three mugs of coffee from the kitchen and set them down on the coffee table. 

 

“Wait Clarice – maybe – didn’t you say that the Hellfire Club wants control over the Murlock Tunnels – Since Munroe took control over the place and Howlett keeps a close watch over the territories surrounding the place for the cartels and shipments – maybe they’re trying to chase off Munroe? “

Sitting up straight, Clarice looked at the map before yelling “Lucas get your ass in here, I think I know what the _hell_ is going on with this murder case!” 

“For someone so tiny you have a ridiculous pair of lungs Clarice. Would it kill you to possibly try to _not_ make me lose my hearing prematurely?” Lucas Bishop grumbled before rubbing his eyes and leaning against the doorframe. 

“What’d you find?” 

“The murders – how far away was the first victim when the police found him?” 

“ 25 miles or so , why?”

“Don’t ask questions just answer my questions then I’ll explain. Second victim?”

“23 miles.” 

“Third victim.” 

“18 miles.” 

“And the recent victim? “ 

“10 miles.” 

“They’re targeting the Murlock Tunnels – “ 

“They want to take out Munroe and her girls.”


	5. and the flames couldn't go much higher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wanda Maximoff finds herself thinking of wolves and the moon and her mother, encounters one Jean Grey, and Quentin Quire makes an apperance in which he witnesses a corpse being dumped o na doorstep.
> 
> (Metaphorically of course. No one actually dumps corpses onto anyone's actual, literal doorsteps anymore - as Quentin Quire will tell you straight to your face.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One little (or big? ) update before I start studying for my last final that's on the 22nd at 7pm (QAQ; ) 
> 
> anyway, bonus appearance from one Wade Wilson and Quentin Quire as well as Evan because well, why not. Also, there's a bit of a ambiguously semi-violent scene regarding murder, death, and implied childhood trauma. 
> 
> just keep that in mind as the chapter progresses; 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr under chrysanthemumskies ! 
> 
> hope you enjoy;

i.

10:45 PM on a Friday Evening. Cloudy, humidity levels at 45. 

There’s something like the rush of the wind coursing through your lungs – the sound of gravel crunching beneath the soles of your old out leather worn feet and it’s the panic that rises in your blood as the sky turns dark and footsteps seem to follow your every turn.   
_‘How fucking ironic’_   
Wanda thought to herself as she ducked behind another corner and let the knife slip out of her sleeve quietly, pressing up against the wall to hide her shadow from the three figures that were tailing her - _the one time I go in to get intel and of course they recognize me as one of Ororo’s girls when usually they never remember our names in the first place!_

It had been a bit of a recon mission gone wrong – she had a good head start on the goons lurking about the pier where the Hellfire Club made their deals and transactions but then Emma Frost had appeared, dressed in whites and creams and it was as if she had some sort of portable freezer hiding underneath her coat tails because it always seemed as if the air turned thirty degrees colder whenever she entered the room. It wasn’t Emma Frost who ended up snitching Wanda out – no, it was one of the three girls that always followed Emma – 

‘They’re like – like those cuckoo birds that move like clockwork. Do they even eat? It’s like they just stare at you as if they’re trying to stare into your sooooooooooooul and then when you’re not looking they’ll **steal** it and then you’ll be some sort of undead creature that the Hellfire Club uses to **take over the world!** ‘ Jubilee had mentioned it during their breaks after it was late and they were closing the place up and Wanda couldn’t help laughing at the girl at the time but then up close and personal, Wanda could see the similarities. 

“Jubes, I think I owe you an apology because this is an entire new level of creepy. Especially since they won’t stop following me at this point in time, for the record.“ Wanda muttered to herself as she clenched the knife closer and closed her eyes, slowly willing her heart to stop hammering so loudly and - shit - this was not how she wanted to spend her night. 

“Why am I talking out loud to myself that’s great that’s exactly what they want me to do to just pinpoint my location so they can pounce on me like some starving, cannibalistic cuckoo birds.” 

_Breathe breathe breathe --- what would mother do?_

She remembers Magda – vaguely and a bit blurred at the edges but she remembers her smile and her hands, how when they were on the run how those hands would mend the holes in their clothes and make any and all cuts and bruises seem small and not at all as painful and scary as they seemed to be when Wanda would first get them – and she remembers peeking through the open door of a closet and holding Pietro and Lorna close to her as strange men decided to break through their door and talk loudly at Magda, and then they started to laugh and laugh and wouldn’t stop trying to surround her and Wanda didn’t know what they were saying -- they were talking too fast, too harshly -- but she remembers how her mother had reached for the kitchen knife and how her steady hands shook – 

But the angry men soon stopped their laughter and their angry shouts – and she remembers Magda covered in red drops of blood but how her hands had been steady and how she had dragged the bodies out into the woods for the wolves to eat – and when Wanda got out of the closet with Pietro and Lorna in tow, Magda gave her a smile and a kiss on the forehead, and told her of a story of a wolf who protected her cubs from evil men who tried to burn their home down --- 

And Wanda remembers the words – the little hymn that Magda would sing to them on the cold nights when they would seek refuge in the churches and old forgotten homes –   
‘ Don’t let the moon’s rays frighten you child,   
Run through the woods and hide amongst the trees   
For the wolves will protect you and the river will   
Guide you home – run with the wolves, and they’ll keep you close   
To the moon beams and their guiding light.’ 

And suddenly, things didn’t seem so frightening anymore. 

(It would be another minute or so before Wanda stopped hearing the repetitive pattern of footsteps circling around her and she’d breathe a sigh of relief, slip her knife back into her sleeve and straighten her back, slowly making her way to the buzzing lights of the crowded streets, heels clicking against the pavement. 

She was still, however, being followed. 

It was just her luck however, that Jean Grey was about to pass her by.) 

ii. 

If there was one thing that Jean Grey hated, it was unexpected appointments scheduled by her partner during crucial times like this, which was that Ororo had called earlier and said that one of her girls had intel about the Hellfire Club and that she was to drop by the Murlock Tunnels after the last show yet Scott had said something about how Jean was working too hard and that he was worried and that a young woman like her needed her rest as if she needed to be coddled and be sent off for a **nap** when she was this close to finally getting some inkling of a scope on the Hellfire Club .   
And she’d have to think while talking and sometimes often than not she’d change ‘partner’ to ‘ work partner’ when mentally correcting herself and Ororo or whoever else she’d be talking to at the moment who would just get that _look_ on their face, as if they knew something that she didn’t (which also irritated her to no end) and were all secretly shaking their heads and patting her shoulder in something like pity. _That_ also irritated the fuck out of her. 

That people would _pity_ her just for no fucking reason, as if she had some sort of prophecy – some sort of tragedy written in her bones that everyone else was waiting to play out that they all knew about and she was kept out of the loop. And sometimes when she got all worked up about all the things that irritated her , she sort of lost focus as to where she was going or who she was walking into. Which is precisely how she ends up bumping into one Wanda Maximoff (whom she vaguely remembers from the other night and she feels her lips go dry again and she can’t exactly understand _why_ without realizing until the other woman ends up meeting the pavement with a dull _thud_ and Jean realizes exactly what happens. 

“Oh ! Oh my gosh -- sorry I didn’t see you there! I sorta got carried away, didn’t see where I was going you know? Right shit I should stop talking and actually –“ Jean rambled before extending her arm to help pull Wanda off of the pavement to which Wanda then gave her a smile and looped her arm through Jean’s with nothing but a wink. 

“Uh – “ 

“Here’s the plan – we walk to the corner of this block, turn onto Madison avenue in which then – well actually I have question for you” Wanda started to talk, low enough that Jean had to lean in closer to hear what she was saying, to which Jean only gave a nod and raised an eyebrow at the woman who was currently walking at quite a brisk pace and yet, Jean knew that sort of walk - it’s that sort of walk that you want to get away from someone and yet you don’t want to draw attention to yourself – 

Are we being followed then? Well, actually better question is – is this Wanda lady being followed and if so does it have anything to do with the Hellfire Club?   
Wait shit she’s talking okay focus Jean focus – 

\- “Do you find me attractive?” 

Well, that was certainly an unexpected question. 

“Uh do you mean – “ 

“Point blank – do you find me attractive – whether it’s simply for my body or for how I look or hell, even my voice – Answer the question please, Miss Grey” 

“Please don’t call me ‘Miss Grey’ - I feel like some old withered grandma who walks around in those powdered wigs from France and surround myself with every single cat I can get my hands on. Jean’s fine. You can just call me Jean and that would be fine and uh – Yes? I suppose ? I mean it’s not to say that I don’t don’t find you attractive? Which wait that wouldn’t make sense I suppose I mean to say that I do not find you not attractive which would mean that – “ 

It’s then that Jean realizes that they’ve already turned the corner onto Madison and had ducked underneath the awning of some bookshop -- _Adler’s and Company_ \- and that Wanda was suddenly very , very close to her . 

“Uh not to be rude Miss Maximoff – “ 

“Please, Wanda’s just fine.” 

“Right. Wanda – “ 

“Here’s the thing, I’m being chased down by Emma Frosts’ little cuckoo birds – no they’re not actual cuckoo birds before you start asking more of your nagging questions but in any case, they think I’m alone and they haven’t seen you, and you know what they say – public displays of affection make people look away which is why I’m going to ask you this question once and only once and depending on your reply one of two things will happen. But in any case, I’m asking you now as it is, of course only proper.” 

(And as if this situation could not get more awkward, Jean thought she heard a bit of sarcasm in that and wanted to laugh but perhaps that wasn’t the right sort of thing to do at the moment -   
And really, sometimes Jean curses Ororo and her girls because this was on all kinds of levels of unfair because technically speaking, Jean’s not supposed to have any sort of entanglement or interaction outside from a fairly strict work-based policy that’s entirely profession and doesn’t include these sorts of situations where she’s back up against the wall and this one (very attractive) cabaret dancer slash who knows what else – is infringing on her personal space at the very moment and there’s a possibility that Jean Grey could be signing up to be involved in way more than she bargained for when she first moved out of her parent’s house but still – 

It’s not like Jean was one for following rules much anyway. 

And Wanda did in fact, make her throat go dry for reasons she couldn’t quite understand.

So what the hell was she waiting for anyway? Better to bite the bullet now rather than later.) 

“Go on then, shoot.” 

There’s a moment where Wanda’s eyes flicker from the store glass and back to Jean and an almost bashful look appears on Wanda’s face – 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Well, that was certainly unexpected. 

iii.

If there’s one thing that Quentin Quire is good at, it’s keeping track of who goes in and out of the Hellfire Club’s main office. It also helps that Quentin Quire’s been living on the run since he can remember, and that his attitude is one that many would describe as an ‘ annoying yowling wet cat that would claw your eyes out in a second’s notice ‘ which would often be of much help in his job hunting ventures.   
Still, he knew what street corners to linger around at to catch the chatter of what the police are up to or of any sort of crimes being planned and plotted – the whole world’s like a goddamn fucking seashell if you just put your ear to it at the right time and place. Quentin Quire doesn’t do ‘family’, he also doesn’t do commitment either. 

But whenever he sees Wade Wilson around he always manages to tag along, only for the ridiculous rides that happen whenever Wade Wilson decides to poke around town on an errand for Munroe – or worse, Howlett. In fact, those were the rides that made Quentin feel like he was alive – as if he took part in any of them – nah, he just sat back and watched as Wade did his thing (what exactly Wade’s thing was, Quentin didn’t really know) and kept an eye out for anyone who might be lurking around waiting to ambush the man.

(In reality, Quentin was more interested in the kid that seemed to always be with Wilson, though he couldn’t quite catch his name at first – Even? Steven? No no, something with an A – Evan? It sounded about right. Then again, he could be way off and this kid’s name could be Cornelius the third or something like that and Quentin wouldn’t know (nor probably care) for sure. ) In fact, in the few times that he interacted directly with Evan, he’d be faced with remarks with something along the lines of “But wait, don’t you have a home? Why don’t you have a home I thought everyone did?” and also trademark gems like “So maybe this isn’t the right place for you if you still can’t seem to settle in and get started on the soundtrack of your life – “ 

Which, really, Quentin found cute and endearing that the kid in corduroy shorts and a newsies cap was going to give him lectures on how to live his life. ) 

Which is why when the fifth victim was dropped from the warehouse that he was currently snooping around, Quentin figured it was high time he hightailed it out of there and went to someone who could maybe probably do something about this ridiculous murder count in bodies -- Who even needs to kill this many people, especially over some shitty land that’s not even land anymore! -- and that was exactly how the next morning at 10:05 AM, Quentin Quire tailed Clarice Ferguson and Lucas Bishop as they were en route to the latest murder site. 

But that wasn’t exactly the end of his worries. 

(And here he thinks that he can just toss his life of pickpocketing and hot headed angry words because he’s just a _kid_ in this shitty world and maybe if he can do something right like help those detectives out or something , maybe things will be less shitty for him. 

Maybe. That’s a 0.005% chance of it ever actually being less shitty, but hey that’s 0.005% more than what Quentin originally had so, maybe it was worth a shot.

And maybe then Evan would maybe want to talk to him instead of ignoring his pokes and prods and snippy comments which were all a byproduct of Quentin not having a filter and not knowing what to say 110% of the fucking time.) 

iv. 

_“Can I kiss you?”_

Was certainly not the phrase that Jean expected to hear for the night – especially not from one cabaret dancer who made her feel very oddly confused yet excited and she didn’t quite know why – 

But then Jean remembered that they were in fact on a timed schedule if Wanda’s words about those Cuckoos were of any importance or of worth – which, they probably were – and that she really didn’t have the time to not only be questioning _what_ and _where_ she was or how her seemingly mundane (and rather boring event planned with her _work_ partner Scott) evening was now sabotaged as she was now currently stuck between a wall and a cabaret dancer who was _asking her permission to kiss her_ , 

That, was certainly _not_ on the calender for the day. 

Still it took Jean a moment or two before blinking and nodding her head once in a - _yes_ sort of gesture before Wanda moved in closer and pressed a kiss to Jean’s lips, one hand curling up to tangle itself gently in Jean’s hair and overall, it was far more quicker and much less painful then Jean thought it would have been.

(Then again, she remembers Scott having the tendency to miscalculate a lot when trying to kiss her, to the point where even when they’d go out for a drink after their shifts were over and done with, he’d act like a clumsy horse and she’d wonder if it’d even be worth the free alcohol she had gotten.) 

In fact, Jean didn’t realize that she had closed her eyes until she felt Wanda move away and there was a small tinge of disappointment that it wasn’t a bit longer than that.

( _And where the heck did that thought come from anyway, Jean Grey?_ ) 

It’s with a nod and wink that Wanda steps away from her and gives her a small wave before merging into the rushing crowd and disappearing from Jean’s sight. 

v. 

At approximately 11:00 AM the next morning, Clarice Ferguson wakes up to an inconsistent yet very annoying banging on her apartment door and it takes quite a bit of self control not to answer the door in the nude with a bunch of knives armed and ready to be thrown at said perpetrator and disturber of her sleep – 

And yet, when she opens the door she’s met with a semi frantic and shaking Quentin Quire who looked as if he was going to pass out right then and there. 

In fact, he probably would have collapsed then and there if Clarice hadn’t caught him and dragged him inside and onto the couch, grumbling how it’s too early for the Hellfire Club to start scaring the shit out of teenagers at 11 AM on a fucking weekday and how she’s not paid enough for this shit. 

(Though, when Quentin wakes up later to a bowl of steaming soup and some tea, Clarice just raises an eyebrow and says – 

“You gonna talk, Quire? Or should I toss you out back to the street dogs who can then turn you over to the Hellfire Club and then you can say that this’ll be your last meal _ever_ on earth because you know what the Hellfire Club _does_ to kids like you that go snooping around trying to act cool and all ? “ 

“They’ll kill you and then we’ll have to be the ones to deal with seeing your body floating along the waterfront. And I for one, would rather not have to deal with that on a Saturday morning unless I was thoroughly under the influence of something highly _illegal_ \-- you understand, kid? “ 

Quentin, for his credit, doesn’t say anything, just picks up the bowl and starts to eat and then grumbles about how ‘I’m not a kid you know – ‘ to which Clarice threatens to throw her slipper at him.  
(But that was only because she was running on three hours of sleep for the second day in a row.)

vi.

At approximately 3:05, Clarice and Lucas get a call from their office that an anonymous tip had come in and that the Hellfire Club was on the move.


End file.
